


Over and Ahead

by Ivyfics (ivyfics)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, M/M, OOC, bro idk wtf this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyfics/pseuds/Ivyfics
Summary: “That ball is mine. Didn’t know anyone was here.”The boy is taller than him, so he doesn’t have as much free space when bending himself into the tunnel, his knees sliding over to reach the ball resting against Kenma’s leg. It’s already in his arms again when he stops and looks at the huddling form next to him.“I’m Kuroo, I live down the street.”
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Over and Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> This wip is acient and ooc so apologies

Kenma is seven and hiding. 

The sun is beating down, the tin skeleton of the tunnel on the playground his only protection from the rays. It’s set under the looming shadow of the biggest tree he’s ever seen so the metal is cool against his back. 

His mother sent him off with a pat on the back and a caution to stay out of trouble while she finished unpacking the living room after seeing the horde of children roaming around the park that sits across the street of their new home. From where he sits he can see her peeking out from their window every now and again to keep an eye on him, the open side of the tunnel giving her a full view of where he is. 

The playground is loud, their new neighborhood filled to the brim with kids ready to spend their summer on the swings and the dirt and away from stuffy classrooms. The tunnel is doing a fine job of keeping the outside out and the inside in, and Kenma relaxes as he levels up his starter through the small screen in his hands. 

He spends what feels like eons like this, sitting quietly and getting lost in his game. A pang against one of the tunnel walls tears him from the lull he’s been in with a start, the ball that caused it bouncing against his leg before coming to a stop. 

His eyes rove over it. It’s blue, and yellow, and not supposed to be there. Balls belong on the outside, in the heat he’s escaping.

When he looks away he sees something else that is not supposed to be there. Inky hair pressed against a sweaty forehead peeking out from the opening of the tunnel greets him, along with a set of hazel eyes and a smile that seems to be saying sorry. 

“That ball is mine. Didn’t know anyone was here.” 

The boy is taller than him, so he doesn’t have as much free space when bending himself into the tunnel, his knees sliding over to reach the ball resting against Kenma’s leg. It’s already in his arms again when he stops and looks at the huddling form next to him. 

“I’m Kuroo, I live down the street.” 

“Kenma,” he gives back after a few moments, following his mother’s voice in his head that says it’s only polite to give your name back when somebody gives you theirs. 

Settling against the side of the tunnel, the boy asks “Can I stay here? It’s super hot outside!”

The boy–Kuro, his mind supplies– is not loud, or forcing him to go outside like the other kids that came by earlier and it’s not like he  _ owns _ the tunnel. A small nod comes out of him and he returns to his screen.

They stay together in silence, Kuro watching over Kenma’s shoulder as he plays until his mom is calling him back for lunch. Kuro crawls away with his ball, and they return to the outside where they belong while Kenma stays behind until his own mother is calling for him. 

He spends the next day in the tunnel too, and Kuro shows up again, sweaty and with a ball under his arm. Then the next day, and the next, and the day after. He learns a lot about Kuro like that, sharing a bits and pieces of themselves everyday in the silence of the tunnel, long stretches of quiet filled only by the music coming out of Kenma’s game interwoven with small bursts of conversation. 

Kenma is seven, but he’s not hiding, just waiting, and the boy keeps coming back.

* * *

He’s quiet. He likes it that way, his attention set on the things around him. He likes looking at what others do, how they act. The thought of doing those things himself bring a drop in his stomach and sweaty hands, but just looking is fine. 

Kenma takes everything in and it’s too much sometimes, all that information. It makes his head spin. His hair has started to grow longer and it cuts off what he can look at, narrowing it down. When his mom asked if he wanted to get it shorter, he shook his head, black strands grazing the tops of his cheeks and asked to keep it long.

* * *

As loud as Kuroo can be, he’s pulled into the quiet, the silence that Kenma brings. It works the other way around too; Kuro pulls him into the loud, the movement and all the bothersome things. It has been that way since they met. It happened in the park when he was six, at school when trying out for volleyball, and now.

Kuro has being pulling him into motion all his life, so it makes sense one afternoon when he’s sweaty, and tired, and uncomfortable, and he realises that that growing tightness in his chest when he looks at his best friend is something other than friendship.

Kuro catches him looking, and gives him that smile that says sorry, the same one he’s been using since they’ve met. “It’ll get better, kitten. The third years are graduating soon,” he says while pushing his hair away from his sweaty forehead, and Kenma remembers that day in the tunnel. 

He remembers afternoons spent in safety away from the sun, the feeling of loss when summer came to an end, and of things falling into place when his new elementary has the one and only Kuroo Tetsurou in it. 

The patient waiting out of that one whole year that has separated them twice before, and that will again at least once more. 

His eyes stay on him now, on the sweat that rolls down his neck, on the way his chest rises and falls with effort, on the apologetic smile that is so different from the smirk that usually rests there. On the curve of his lips, and how maybe he’d like a kiss from them. 

He knows his own cheeks are red and he’s grateful, unbelievably, that they’re running. 

His best friend can read him better than anyone else without him having to say a word, a symptom of all the years they have spent together, and for once Kenma is glad that Kuro gets it wrong. 

This is… new, and small and bubbling and not something he wants to share. Not yet. It belongs on the  _ inside _ , for now. So he just nods and looks forward, staring at the dirt where he’s been running laps and thinks of that smile a little more.

* * *

Kuro is smart. Excels at academics, and he’s going to be captain of the volleyball team next year. Most of his days go by texting Bokuto from Fukurodani, playing volleyball, with his family or studying.

That takes up all of his time, and Kenma is usually included in almost all of those by default, so being in love with Kuro doesn’t mean much beside the occasional stray thought that leaves his cheeks rosier than he’d like. He keeps his head down often enough that it’s not a problem. 

But that’s before Kuro gets a girlfriend. 

Practice that day is harder than usual. He tries to focus, just like in one of his games, but his eyes keep finding the pretty lips and long black hair watching practice from the sidelines. When they aren’t the drive home back to that inky hair and those hazel eyes, not looking at him. 

Everyone–everyone that matters, that is–is out of focus too, either staring at Kuro’s girlfriend or at Kuro. A couple of them bounce between hazel eyes and Kenma, but he doesn’t notice. 

It strikes him on the short break, when Tora’s arm lands on his shoulders with a heaviness he can feel all the way to his bones and slowly steers him away from the others while hollering about a toss or the other, right after he was turned away from loudly harassing Kuro about his girl. Kuro has always belonged on the outside, only stopping by, a visitor. He has never belonged on the inside. 

The break finishes with a Tora shouting about wanting ice cream and an invitation to go after practice is over, and Kenma zones out. He’s going to learn how to deal with this on the long term but going on autopilot is enough for now. 

They don’t go home together that day after practice, Kenma tagging along with Tora for ice cream. It doesn’t happen often, and Kuroo is almost always with them, but Tora doesn’t ask. 

Tora is loud, obnoxious, and keeps secrets like a vault. 

They leave quietly, making sure Yaku watches them so someone will tell Kuro they went ahead, and Tora’s volume doesn’t increase by much. Kenma loves him for it, not in the same way that he loves Kuro, and he’s glad that if anyone has to know his secret, it’s Tora. 

Silence blankets them, broken only by a small voice. He’s not used to this. Tora’s voice that jumps and stands above others, even in utter chaos, now so low that it’s almost a whisper. 

Tora isn’t really looking at him when he begins. “You were quiet today.”

It’s easy to answer him when he’s not looking, so when he answers he keeps his eyes on the phone in his hand, playing a game. “I’m always quiet.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Tora shake his head, but he still doesn’t look at him. “I mean quieter than normal. I had to be louder to balance it out.” 

Kenma thinks he’s going to continue, but a beep coming from his phone breaks the conversation. It’s from Kuro and he stops to answer. Tora stops with him and finally looks over, his eyes landing on the screen rather than on Kenma. 

  
  


**( ⓛ ω ⓛ )**

_ >Kitteeeeen  _

_ >Im gonna walk sakura home  _

_ >Nvm yaku said u went with tora  _

_ >C u at home don’t eat too much or ull feel sick later _

_ >Tell me when ur back  _

He doesn’t know if sadness is visible but it feels like Tora can see it painted on his features. That kind of understanding was reserved for Kuro, and he doesn’t know if it’s something that should make him happy, having someone else that can see him so plainly. Maybe he should be terrified. 

They walk all the way to the ice cream parlor a bit ways off and he knows Tora led him there because this one has apple pie as a flavor. Happy, then. 

Few steps before they enter, Tora stops. His eyes are facing forward and his hands are in his pockets, not looking at Kenma, but he knows whatever words come out of his mouth are meant for him. 

“I’m gonna be the ace next year. I’m going to be strong enough so that the team can rely on me. I can be louder, every now and then. You can be this kind of quiet if you need it; I’ll be loud enough.” 

Quiet Tora is gone after that, his demeanor changing and eyes burning up. His voice is loud, too loud for any public place or any place at all, and it feels like a rallying cry. “Alright! Let’s get that ice cream!” 

Really, he’s happy that if anyone has to know, it’s Tora. Tora will help. In the meantime, he’ll just have to pretend until it doesn’t matter anymore. 

* * *

_ If you walk around swaying like that people are gonna look at you! You stand out! _

Tora’s words echoed in his ears long after he had said them, following him after practice and leading him to a conbini nearby–by himself, since Kuro was walking Sakura home today– and up to his bathroom, straight to his sink and his mirror and the forty minutes it took for his hair to turn into a golden shade. 

The process is uncomfortable and he’s not sure he wants to do it again, but he doesn’t mind the result. He doesn’t want to stand out, blending in better is the final goal.

When he shows up the next day, he’s almost forgotten something’s different. It doesn’t really work in helping him blend in, but it does. It’s odd, that panic and annoyance at being the center of attention even if it’s just for a little mixed in with the strange dread when Kuro’s eyes land on him and he’s waiting for a comment. 

It shouldn’t matter. What he thinks shouldn’t matter. It does anyway, and the dread is replaced by a certain kind of relief when Kuro smiles at him and pats his head. 

He’s not used to this, having a place that welcomes him and fusses and _ is too damn loud  _ when all he wants to do is slink away quietly. Kuro might have made this begin, but Kenma has been slowly and silently, sometimes unwillingly, carving his place here.

He doesn’t like interacting with people, doesn’t know how to talk to them, but this group’s alright, he guesses.

* * *

There’s guilt churning in his gut at being happy Kuro is sad. He’s not happy Kuro is in pain, or pretending not to be and failing miserably but he is happy that Sakura is gone. 

He’s not going to fool himself into thinking it’ll be the last, or that it’ll be long before there’s another one taking her place but for now he lets himself just focus on Kuro, and being there like he’s supposed to. He’s also going to focus in making Kuro shut up. 

Kuro’s been at it for exactly two hours, holding back tears in the way of pretending that they’re not there or that his breath does not hitch every now and again. They’re in Kenma’s room, curtains drawn shut, Kenma on the bed and Kuro on the floor cross legged and laying his head back to lay on the edge of Kenma’s pokemon sheets. Tangent number three is coming up, Kuro revving to keep up his word vomit and Kenma can’t take it anymore.

“So, I told him, no, you’re wrong, because there is no way in hell that you can just listen to that song and not at least admit it’s got a catchy tune. I mean, everyone is playing it! You can’t go anywhere without it being somewhere in the backgro–”

“Kuro.”

“–und. And yeah, it’s a shitty song and it makes me, and everyone with any sort of neuron, want to gouge my eyes out just to not hear it again, even if  _ that  _ makes no sense but–”

“Kuro.”

“–I’m not telling him that! I’ll eat my own shorts before I tell him he’s right. And you know what else? His fucking jacket was the most hideou–”

“Tetsurou.”

Full stop. He has never heard Kuro’s breath hitch like that and the feeling in his stomach turn to stone, as if he had swallowed a rock. Kuro’s first name is not something he’s used to saying, or the other’s used to hearing so it works. It works to make Kuro shut up and to have his eyes shut, and his chest heave lightly. 

Kenma doesn’t know how to talk to people, even if that person is Kuro. He’s never had to.

* * *

Shouyou is like sunshine, blinding and hot. He ignites something in Kenma that he can’t really explain to others, something that Kuro sees without him having to say anything. He’s Kenma’s first kiss, in training camp, and he’s happy that it’s Shouyou. It doesn’t grow into anything, based on pure curiosity and the beginnings of friendship. 

It helps confirm that he loves Kuro but he likes boys, and he leaves training camp that year with some clarity, a new friend, and a burn to play.

* * *

He texts shouyou all the time, managing to keep the friendship alive even with the distance. 

Sometimes he feels like Kuroo is upset he pays so much attention to his phone, his means to Shouyou and the small smile he puts on his face, when they are together hanging out in his bed. A small flare of hope when he thinks Kuro might be jealous, but then he remembers the girls, and the looks and the locker room comments. Kenma has a good memory. 

He has managed to pretend, all this time, but it has never not mattered. It has only grown, no longer small, almost as big as he is and he’s gotten  _ good  _ at pretending it’s not there. It can’t be there. 

He gets Kuroo like this, splayed out on his bed, head hanging from the edge, relaxed and happy. Later, he’ll get tired and move over to where Kenma is, put their shoulders together to watch Kenma get lost on the screen. He’ll be a little too warm, and the smell of sandalwood that lives in his clothes will mix with the cinnamon of Kenma’s room and it will be home. This is enough.

He doesn’t get secret smiles, or playful smirks, but he gets Kuro, his best friend and sandalwood and cinnamon. He gets to pretend that Kuroo has always belonged on the inside, instead of just being a long time visitor, and that is enough. It has to be. 

He just hopes it will stay that way.

* * *

The first time he cries, Tora is there. 

It's out of nowhere. Jealousy is ugly and stealthy and it rears its head in the most inconvenient of times. He doesn’t cry much, if at all, after that. It hurts, but he learns how to deal. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter [@ivyfics](https://twitter.com/ivyfics)


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